Ask, Tell, page 23
to show in the gaps between the mountains. Apparently the
quick errand of running me back and forth to the base
doesn’t need a second escort vehicle. While the Humvee
pulls around, I stare at those beautiful mountains, watching
the arresting beauty of the sunrise. The sky is cast in pink
and orange, settling a strange glow over the dusty ground
and reflecting back at me through the valley.
The ranges seem endless, as though someone spent a
lifetime with a carving tool making perfect gullies and ridges
in the red and brown rock. At the start of my deployment
the ranges were snow-capped, their beauty increased by a
hundredfold. They are bare now and I probably won’t see
the snow again before I leave. No matter what we are doing
or who lives at Invicta, the seasons continue to cycle and
every one of them is gorgeous.
As I approach the Humvee, the rear doors fling open and
the gunner leaps from the back. “Good morning, Captain.”
He snaps a sharp salute.
I return his salute, glancing at his insignia patch. “Good
morning, Specialist. Thank you for the ride.”
He nods. “Our pleasure, ma’am. Might I ask instead of fare
payment, you go easy on both of us with the needle?” He is
beaming, clearly in high spirits despite the hour.
I lean in, trying to make out his name patch. “I forgot my
wallet so I suppose that’s an acceptable trade, Richards.”
He laughs, seemingly pleased I am playing along. “Thank
you, ma’am. I sure would appreciate it.” Richards takes all
three bags from me and places them in the back under the
bench seat so they don’t slide around. He offers a hand to
help me climb up into the back of the vehicle. “Should only
be twenty minutes, Captain,” Richards says cheerfully as I
settle on one of the seats and belt myself in. He pulls the
rear doors closed. “We’re set, Elliot.”
The driver shifts into gear. “Copy that.”
Richards slides up next to the turret and stands slowly,
wiggling to get through the gap in the top. I settle under the
hunched, turtle-like roof and lean back, listening to them
talking and butchering songs as we drive.
When we pull in, Richards squirms down from the turret
and opens the doors. Before I can pick up my bags, he grabs
the handles and carries them into the main building. I’ve
been allocated space in the large mission briefing room, and
there’s a desk and a fresh pot of coffee waiting, along with
some pastries. Thank you, soldiers, for your hospitality. A
small refrigerator for the vaccinations is attached to what
seems like a mile of extension leads.
“You know where the latrines are, Captain?” Richards asks
politely.
“Yes I do, thank you.”
“I’ll see you when it’s my turn, ma’am. You remember our
deal?” he asks me, eyes wide.
I grab the least stale looking doughnut and smile at him.
“I do indeed, Specialist.”
He salutes and walks away, whistling to himself. I shrug
out of my ballistic vest and set it and my helmet on a spare
chair then glance at my watch. Seventeen minutes until we
are due to start. I take a bite of doughnut and unzip my
bags.
The soldiers will come in alphabetically with their sleeve
rolled up and ready for their shot. Whoever is allocated to
assist me will take the code from the vaccine and stick it
into their medical file. Barring any issues, each member
should take ninety seconds to receive their vaccination from
the moment they walk through the door.
It’s all about coordination and as long as they keep
moving through I will be done at about sixteen hundred,
factoring in a few bathroom breaks and half an hour to eat
lunch. The sound of soldiers massing outside grows louder.
Hurry Sabine. I shove more doughnut in my mouth and
unpack boxes of vaccinations from their cooler bags and
stack them into the refrigerator.
A young soldier rushes into the room pushing a large
trolley stacked with medical files. She stops a few feet in
front of me, saluting enthusiastically. What is it with these
kids? They are all so damned chipper.
“Good morning, Captain Fleischer! I’m Private Jeffries,
your assistant for today,” she informs me loudly. This one
has some extra zeal.
I cannot help but smile as I return her salute. “Good
morning, Jeffries. As you were.” I unzip my last bag and pull
out gloves and alcohol swabs. “Do you know what you have
to do?” I ask, lining up the boxes.
Her nod is repetitive and vigorous. “Yes ma’am, I’ve been
briefed.”
“Okay then, why don’t you get set up? It seems everyone
is beginning to come in.” I wonder if I’ll become annoyed by
her fervor.
As she stacks the files, I give her a quick rundown of what
I’ll do and what I expect from her. Jeffries assures me she is
capable and confident in her ability. I have to press my lips
together to stop myself from laughing. I know girls like her.
My first year in the army, when everything was fresh, I was
her.
The first troops are five feet away, the rest waiting in a
long snaking line out of the building. It’s amusing to listen to
them fret and to watch large muscular men sweat and go
pale at the thought of getting a tiny needle. I stuff a piece of
gum in my mouth and pull on a pair of disposable gloves.
The first soldier approaches and I smile at him, to help put
him at ease. His voice is barely audible and his hands are
shaking as he pulls his left sleeve up a little higher. “Abbot,
Patrick.”
I peel the barcode from the syringe and pass it to Jeffries.
When I turn back to the soldier, his face has drained of color.
Oh come on, kid, it’s just a little needle. “Are you okay,
Private?” I place the syringe on the table, opting to leave
the cap on the needle for now.
“Yes ma’am.” He nods, wavers for a moment and crashes
into the man standing behind him. A few of the troops grab
at him and manage to stop him from hitting the ground too
heavily. The sound of laughter is cut short by a barked order
from the side of the room.
I kneel to check on poor Abbot. Yep, he’s unconscious but
he didn’t hit his head so he should be fine. I check his pulse
and wait for him to come to. When his eyes flutter, I reach
up and grab the vaccine corresponding to the code which is
now in his file. “Can you hold him there for a moment
please, gentlemen?” It takes me less than ten seconds to
rub a swab over his arm and stick him with the needle.
There. Done. I stand up and toss the spent vaccine in the
sharps bin. I wish I had a smiley sticker to put on the front of
his uniform, proclaiming You Tried!
I point to a spot on the floor. “Just put him down over
there on his side, where I can keep an eye on him, please.”
They manhandle Abbot ten feet away and lie him down. He
groans. Poor baby. I give the assembled soldiers a wide grin.
“Right! Next!”
* * *
Everything else goes fairly smoothly. I have twenty-seven
fainters in a group of three hundred and eighteen soldiers.
Not bad. I’m surprised at Jeffries’s efficiency. When it was
time for “Jeffries, Lauren” she barely broke stride, leaning
over to offer her arm while simultaneously putting the
sticker in her own file.
When the last arm has been stuck, Jeffries helps me pack
my things and seals the sharps bins ready for disposal. She
says goodbye as brightly as she said good morning, then
gives me a salute before she pushes the cart of files across
the room with her back straight and head high.
“Jeffries?” I call after her.
She stops near the doorway, pivots and stands to
attention. “Captain Fleischer.”
“Thank you for your assistance, you were invaluable. I’ve
enjoyed working with you.”
She bites her lower lip, but it doesn’t hide her smile.
“You’re welcome, Captain.”
I put my helmet and vest on again and carry my own bags
out to the transport home. Richards and Elliot, my crew from
this morning both step from the Humvee and greet me with
a salute, which I return. “Specialist, Corporal. How are your
arms?”
Elliot’s frown is exaggerated as he rubs his left arm.
Richards leans to the side as though the arm I stuck him in
suddenly weighs a hundred pounds. “Not sure I can hold my
rifle, Captain,” he jokes.
I grin. “I’m sure you’ll manage.” I lift the now considerably
lighter bags up into the back of the vehicle. Richards
reaches down to pull them all the way inside for me. I grasp
his hand and climb in to settle on the bench seat, wedged
into the rear right-hand corner of the cramped cabin. I
fasten my seat belt just before Elliot drops the clutch and
bunny-hops forward. The laughter tells me it’s intentional.
Jokers, all of them. Facing the middle of the vehicle, there’s
nothing to hold on to and I’m jolted to my right. Perfect.
“Another twenty-minute trip, traffic pending, Captain,”
Elliot calls back to me, looking in his rearview mirror. He
laughs to himself. Of course there is no traffic. He’s still
snickering as he drives away from the base. Everyone’s a
comedian.
Well, here it is. I’ve just completed one whole day without
worrying about Rebecca. How many do I have left? I refuse
to do the math. My body armor is digging in under my
armpits. I tug at it. Vests never sit right on women and the
official word on a female-friendly version is Soon. A typical
response which means Maybe we’ll start thinking about it in
a few years.
I loosen the straps around my torso a little so I can
breathe without being jabbed by armor plates. It’s so
fucking hot in here. I’m tired. I lean forward and pull my rifle
sling over my head, leaving the weapon sitting across my
knees. We haven’t driven ten minutes when the radio
buzzes with static and a calm voice cuts through the silence.
“Transport Blue, do you copy? Over.”
Elliot snatches the radio up. “Transport Blue. Over.”
“Looks like you have hajji en route. Three units. Over.”
He pauses. “Roger that. Over.”
“What’s your ETA? Over.”
I sneak a peek at my watch. It is sixteen thirty-nine.
“Eight mikes. At least. Over.” Elliot’s voice is now pitched
slightly higher. Eight minutes.
“Make it sooner, or you’re going to be TIC. We’ve got a
couple of Humvees coming out behind you. ETA intercept
with you in six. Over.”
“Copy that. Over out.” Elliot hooks the radio mouthpiece
back into its cradle. “Now they can spare a couple of teams
for escort. Typical,” he mutters.
TIC. Troops in combat. My skin suddenly feels too small for
my body, tight, as if it’s being stretched somehow.
Adrenaline floods through me and I feel sweat dampening
my armpits. It’s probably nothing, right?
“Ass pucker factor, Spec?” Elliot is looking back in the
rearview mirror again. I pull a small first aid kit from one of
my large bags and shove it in a pants pocket. I want it with
me, not out of reach if things get hot.
Richards drops back down into the Humvee and blows
through pursed lips. “Five out of ten. It’s probably nothing.
We’re single vee, not a convoy. Not fuckin’ worth their
time.” Still, I catch him absently patting his chest. He is
checking his tags. He tilts his head to study the ammo stack
for the fifty caliber gun in the turret then turns around and
glances down at me. “You dressed, Captain?”
“Yes.” My hands are trembling as I check the chinstrap on
my helmet. My hands never tremble.
Richards climbs back up through the hole to the turret gun
and calls down to me, “How about you get your rifle ready,
just in case we ne—”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Time lengthens, pushing everything past me at half
speed. The first thing I register is a sudden increase in heat.
I am so hot. It washes over my body as though I’m being
tumbled through a wave of boiling water. There’s a
complete lack of noise and a swelling pressure in my ears.
Then an explosion bursts through the cabin and my upper
body is thrown backward, my shoulder and head cracking
against the frame of the vehicle. I cry out as the belt bites at
my waist. My eyes are jammed tightly closed and I flail
wildly, trying to find something to grab to stop myself from
tumbling. It’s no use. The vehicle is moving underneath me.
I am strapped in and being taken along.
The last thing I register is pain as time contracts again.
We stop rolling and settle, creaking, in the dirt. I’m lying on
my back, still belted to the seat. The vehicle has tipped over
onto its right side. I can’t hear anything through the intense
ringing in my ears, but I feel the remnants of the explosion
in my chest. It vibrates, low and resonant. I open and close
my mouth, trying to clear my ears but it does nothing. The
cabin is filled with smoke and dust and I wave my hand in
front of my face, as if I could clear it away.
Am I alive? You’re thinking, Sabine and also breathing, so I
would say yes. Yes, you’re alive. Step one of checklist
complete. I try to pull my sunglasses off but they catch
under my helmet. I tug harder and manage to unsnag and
toss them aside. Acrid smoke stings my eyes and they begin
to tear up.
“Corporal? Specialist?”
No answer.
The metallic tang of blood fills my mouth. My tongue
sweeps around my mouth and stings whenever it touches
something. I must have bitten it. I swallow my bloody saliva
and begin to check myself, fearful of what I might find.
There’s pain in my right leg, near my knee. My stomach
tightens. No, please. Please let it still be there.
There’s a sharp pain low in my torso when I lean forward
against the seat belt. Raw fear rushes through me as I reach
to gingerly touch my leg and I let out a shaky breath. My leg
is still there but there’s something embedded in the side of
it just below the strap of my holster. The feel and scent of
blood is as familiar to me as my own face.
I do a quick extremity check. Things are moving which
should be movable. Good. That’s good. I’m okay, but I’m
certain I’m covered in cuts and abrasions. My breathing is
quick and shallow. Panic breaths. I try to slow my
respirations down. We just got blown up. Someone blew us
up. I reach up to touch my head, making contact with the
hard surface of my helmet. Of course.
There’s pain from where my head made contact with the
side of the vehicle and my face feels like a horse kicked me.
I probe my temple and cheek carefully. It’s just a small
laceration. My hand comes away bloody. Both my hands
now have my blood on them. I notice the unmistakable
scent of viscera. My throat constricts. I slide my hands
under my vest and pat my torso. There’s pain, I assumed
from the belt snatching at me, so I didn’t physically check
there. There are no wounds. The smell is not my viscera.
I try again. “Corporal? Specialist?” My voice is croaky and I
cough, trying to clear the acrid explosive residue sticking in
my throat. There is no answer from either of them. The air
inside the cabin is still smoky so I can’t see much. After a
few moments, the ringing in my ears clears enough for me
to catch the unmistakable sound of a bullet pinging against
metal. Instinctively, I duck my head. Oh shit. Please, no.
Another bullet hits the metal to the right of me then
ricochets away. I flinch, like a rabbit zigging away from a fox
and cough again to try and clear my airways. Oh fuck. The
smoke has dispersed enough for me to see some of the
interior. It fades into view, like movie credits. Light streams
through the hole in the left side of the vehicle, which is now
the roof, allowing me to see that something has cut a
diagonal path through the cabin.
The hole starts just behind where the driver sits and exits
a few feet to my right. How did that happen? The floor is
